


tick tick boom

by moogle62



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cunnilingus, F/F, Oral Sex, it's sex it's literally just sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-01
Updated: 2015-01-01
Packaged: 2018-03-04 18:10:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3079298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moogle62/pseuds/moogle62
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They kissed dirty from the start.</p>
            </blockquote>





	tick tick boom

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Tick Tick Boom (shockingly). Finally getting to use the cunnilingus tag! HAPPY NEW YEAR.

Grantaire paints her nails red and gold one night in a fit of melancholic anger and the next day she’s curling two fingers inside Enjolras as she swears and clutches at Grantaire’s blankets. Grantaire could never have predicted this, could not have let herself hope that valkyrie fierce Enjolras with her blazing passion and tight jeans was as desperate for Grantaire as she was for Enjolras, that all it would take, in the end, was the timing to work out. Grantaire had looked up or Enjolras had looked down, just at the right moment, and it was suddenly so clear, so obvious that Grantaire had groaned against Enjolras’ firm mouth at all the time they had wasted when they could have had _this_ , Enjolras scratching her sharp nails down Grantaire’s back and Grantaire’s hands tight on Enjolras’s narrow hips.

Enjolras was wearing dark jeans and a bright red shirt and now they’re both crumpled on Grantaire’s floor, Enjolras down to her plain underwear and pale, bare skin, bucking her hips against Grantaire’s mouth. Grantaire has thought about this so many times, alone in the dead of night, about how Enjolras would sound, how she would move, what she might want. 

What Enjolras wants, it turns out, is Grantaire.

//

They kissed dirty from the start, Enjolras licking into Grantaire’s mouth almost as soon as their lips touched. The pair of them stumbled across the empty cafe until Grantaire was braced against a wall, the sound she made on impact running straight through Enjolras like a current. Grantaire pulled her in closer, pressing them together, chests and hips and thighs, and Enjolras retaliated, nipping her way down Grantaire’s bare neck, leaving marks.

“I’ve thought about this,” she told Grantaire, between kisses. “God, I’ve wanted you so much.”

Grantaire groaned like she’d been hurt but she only clutched Enjolras tighter, said, “Don’t stop, don’t you dare say that and stop,” and Enjolras didn’t, just pulled the collar of Grantaire’s loose tee to one side and sucked a hickey into the tender skin beneath her collarbone. _Mine_ , it said, and Enjolras said it too, finally, _Mine_ , letting her hands roam where they wanted over Grantaire as Grantaire tipped her head back against the wall and wasn’t quiet at all.

//

Grantaire has slept with women before, likes the play of her hands over softer skin, the way women sound when she touches them where they’re wet, likes what she can do with her mouth. She’s slept with women she’s pretended were Enjolras, guiltily closing her eyes, and now she has Enjolras laid out beneath, telling her to _get on with it_ , rocking her hips against Grantaire’s unyielding mouth, she finds nothing has been quite like this before.

No one else could _compare_ , she realizes, and not in the saccharine way that greeting cards or movies with sweet-faced protagonists or Marius would think she meant. Nothing and no one could match this, could equal the fervour that Enjolras rides Grantaire’s mouth with like Grantaire is the crest of change. Grantaire teases, to draw it out, keep Enjolras right where she wants her, swearing and desperate and bold in Grantaire’s bed, urging Grantaire on and on and on. Grantaire will go with her, will give what Enjolras wants until she can’t take any more of it, shuddering and spent.

“Please,” Enjolras hisses, now, and reaches out for Grantaire’s hand. “Please, Grantaire.”

And _god_ , if that doesn’t hit Grantaire where she’s weak, a shot of heat and adrenaline and want like a reaction dealers would advertise and warn for in equal measure. Grantaire would do anything if Enjolras asked, would go to war with her, would go to war for her, would go willingly, hand in hand with Enjolras’s determination. All she can do now, though, is use her tongue faster, suck harder, vicious over the spots that make Enjolras cry out like she’s leading a charge, until her voice goes hoarse, her body bending off the bed like the curve of a bullet, and she comes just for Grantaire.


End file.
